Ruin
by AdrienKrai
Summary: The Third and Final part to Cait's Story after "Detonated" and "BANG". After being caught by Bruce and Richard, Cait's mental state breaches its limit. Rated M for very gruesome content, drugs, sex, you get the picture. R
1. Ruin

Well, I had originally planned on ending it with the last story, but since i got a bunch of people asking me to "update," i realized that it was not a very clear ending. Therefore, you guys get another part to the story. It will be just as long as the others so don't think that this first chapter is the ending, its not. I Love hearing you comments, so please keep them coming!

* * *

"Then you are a criminal."

Such short steps. So concise. Only five to get to and out the door.

Was her face red? Stained with tears from a horrible decision? Or was it pale, stagnant, stoic, and strong?

The window… it was an avoiding image. There he was just standing there. _His_ face was red. Stained with tears. And the look was purely of hatred, malice, regret.

She mouthed words to him, "I'm so... so sorry."

He mouthed words back, "I hate you."

But he still stood there.

Bruce was long gone, leaving them both... together… staring into each other. Into eyes. Into thoughts. Into soul.

"Why," she mouthed again, and it was remarkable that he knew what she said.

"Because. you. were. the only. person. I. have. ever. loved. and now. the only. person. I can. never. have."

She felt the tear this time, painful acid burning down her face.

"But. it. was. all. real… every. word. every. moment… I. swear. to. you."

"I. can't. trust. you…"

She could not find anything to say because she knew that he spoke true. His breath fogged the glass that divided them.

Robin looked through the glass, unresponsive for a split second. He clutched the door handle but let go in change of mind.

The glass separated them.

* * *

"You're going to die, Caity. You stay like this… and you are going to die. A bullet from a gunman... a beating from your father... suicide… cause this is the kind of path you have chosen. Prison or a padded cell… that will happen too. But for now… you stay here… and I can promise you that no one is going to be able to break you out. You're going to get solitary."

* * *

In her hand, she felt glass, and realized, just then the both her hands were bleeding as well as cuts in various places from having broken through that one window. That _one_ window.

It stung.

Though her wrists were strapped down, her hands could move around a little. The glass in her right hand protruded a sizable amount, making her wonder if she could remove it. She twisted and contorted her fingers in a manner that would enable her to get a grip on the glass, not an easy thing. Its was painful. Her slim fingers pulled at the glass until it was free from her skin, letting loose blood which dripped to the ground like rain. Once the glass was in her hand, ready to be controlled, she twisted it just so that it was underneath her restraining strap. She began to sever the piece, until finally it broke. Her right hand was released. She was then able to quickly unlatch her second bond, and then those which restrained her ankles.

She was free and the glass fell from her hands as she knelt upon the ground. Her hands reached up to her eyes, placing them, bloody, over them and smearing down as her black eyeliner had once, once when she committed those crimes.

And her eyes fell upon the glass. That long, sharp blade of glass, already bloody, and she brought it to her.

She stood and looked at the window which had once separated her from Richard, not minutes ago. In it, she could see her reflection. Blood dripping down her face. And she smiled without humor.

She took the glass up to her right eye and just below.

She felt the sharpness penetrate her skin and she screamed as she pulled it down her face to her jawline.

One side down.

Her tears burned the cut as it mingled with the blood, becoming one.

And now the other side.

The cutting of the skin was not pleasurable or satisfactory. It burned, it tore, it was unbelievably painful as she forced her hand to farce the blade to force the skin apart. Breaking into the inside of her cheeks, she tasted the blood on her tongue without even opening her mouth.

And she screamed. Loader than she had ever screamed in her life. Because this was not some harm afflicted by another human, but herself.

She looked at her reflection in the glass.

Her tears now permanently stained.

* * *

From down the hall, Bruce had been discussing Caitlin's situation with the doctors of the facility, demanding that they place her in solitary confinement. And Richard was there next to him, his humble servant, stoic and staring.

Until he heard.

He heard the screaming, and so did Bruce.

Bruce paused for a moment, but did nothing, returning to his discussion with the doctor.

Richard, on the other hand, ran.

He ran as fast as he could until he reached her cell, her new cell, and he peered in.

Before him, through the glass, he saw a girl, laying upon her stomach as blood pooled around her body. On the glass there were blood stains, as well as around the room. And without hesitance, he entered the cell, hands trembling as he moved quickly towards her body.

He lifted her up quivering to see her face destroyed, her eyes barely open.

He whispered her name and she mumbled his, nearly inaudible.

Her hands raise to his face and touch him, shakily. Her palms held his face and he cried into them as he held her in return, arms wrapped around her as if to forever protect.

"What have you done to yourself?"

She did not smile as her voice wavered, "I'm now the monster you hate."

Her hands pulled away, leaving a trail of blood smearing his face and she fainted.

* * *

Sorry for throwing you guys into such a gruesome opening to this final part, but hopefully it will resonate. I have to admit i felt sick jut coming up with the whole idea. Would love to hear your comments!


	2. Medication

She woke up blind.

Feeling herself in the space, she knew she lay on a bed, the sheets cotton, the mattress firm. She could feel the gauze over her face. Her lacerated face. She couldn't speak. She couldn't see. But she felt calm, so overwhelmingly calm.

She heard, faintly, voices, discussing the matter of herself. Herself.

There was some complacence about the atmosphere that she could not quite comprehend, but it was evident and thickly present.

Quivering, her fingertips floated to her face. The gauze stripping it of all normality or knowable features. She attempted to speak, but could not in realization of a mouth full of cotton, puffing her cheeks out only to be suppressed by those containing wrappings. Were it not for a small gap below her nose, she would find it heard to breathe.

But again, she was blind. Only the white light, shining through the strips of cloth could be seen to her eyes… so she listened…

"...for creating this problem, and I can't do anything about it. She is a patient, and therefore cannot and will not be removed from this institute until we deem her to be cured."

"You call this cured? I never saw her act like this ever before she was admitted here."

"The psychological damage could possibly be irrevocable. I don't know what kind of treatment she had while under the Joker's influence, I don't even know if it was the Joker's influence. All I can say is that, at this time, she is not allowed to leave the building, lest something triggers another suicidal episode."

"It was not suicidal."

"Then masochistic."

"It was neither. But if you let me take her with me, I believe that I will be able to do more for her than you will. The underlying issue here cannot be cured with medication."

"It seems to have done its job quite nicely if you ask me. she has slept for three days perfectly fine and she has not made an outburst or any type of resistance to our procedures. All we need now is to make sure that the wounds are healed, then she can go right back to her former treatment, except this time we will have her one something much stronger."

"Is that what you administering now?"

"Yes."

"What does it do?"

"It circulates through her system, until it reaches the frontal lobe of her brain. There it will spread to the parietal, occipital, and then the temporal lobes, where a full and complete distortion of reality will take place. She will be utterly calm, but the medication will provide enough faux stimuli to allow our doctors to penetrate that mind of hers. Soon this will all be a memory."

"It's a hallucinogenic?"

"Yes. And a very powerful one that have... _some_ medical benefits, such as this case."

"That doesn't sound legal."

"It probably isn't. But here at Arkham, we have a very special kind of patient to deal with, which calls for a very special kind of drug. And this one seems to do the trick. We've used it on countless patients, some of which have moved on to becoming good citizens once more."

"Some? And the others?"

"Well, some don't take the medication very well, it can sometimes prove to be problematic, resulting in sedation, but we usually have a good percentage that take it well."

"What usually happens?"

"Well, on rare occasions, the body rejects the drug completely-"

"Wait, do you mean like a virus?"

"The drug _is_ a virus. It attaches to the brain cells, imputing new genetic material into them to create _better_ brain cells. The ones who did _not_ respond well to the drug went into shock from the body attacking its own brain, it created an autoimmune disease in the body, and a majority of those patients die. Its the best and the worst drug. The problem with those who take it and it becomes the disease, they have no idea that they are under the influence of the disease, so at first they are very calm, making it look like the drug is doing what it is supposed to be doing. This goes on for a couple of weeks sometimes before the patient becomes agitated, to the point where they cannot be still and are in constant motion even when asleep or sedated. It sometimes looks like a seizure. But, bottom line is, they become so much worse than before, and we have to shoot them."

She heard a loud thud and the crash of glass, but it was more echo-y, as if from far away, listening in on music played in a grand hall, but from far away. It was soothing in a way, the sound, as each individual particle of glass hit the floor, a soft rain that trickled down a window pane. The thud was the gently rolling thunder. The ripping of sheet, the violin strings as they played a sweet tune.

An entity grabbed her arm, but it was such a soft touch, a lover's caress that she felt and was held up like some doll. She floated in the air for a moment before falling upon the man's back, softly.

She did not know who it was that was taking her away, nor did she care. She didn't seem to care about anything in fact, she could probably have been content to lay where she was upon the mattress. But the man did take her away, and she knew it was a man by his strength and the way his body felt as she was carried on his back. She could not say that she could tell who this man was by this interaction alone of course, but she did think that he must be a nice man,for whom else would take her away in such a fashion. But she found it hard to imagine, just who this may be.

The color of the lights that passed through her wrapping cloths changed frequently and she liked to imagine that they were a part of some sort of show, and she was transported back to a time with her father, the father she had known all her life, whilst at Disneyland, on a trip for her birthday. The fireworks were such a spectacle that she remembered how the lights flashed for those brief moments to match in time with the music and take her to a world unlike any other. And that was what she envisioned this must be. As red and blue intertwined in strange synchronization, she figured that it must be from fireworks, for where else might it come from and she thought of how she was thinking it sounded so strangely unlike herself but what was herself really was it herself or some other being controlling her will for the things that she witnessed within the past two years of her life or however long it had been and how long had it been since then that time which seemed so very long ago now but it wasn't a _very_ long time ago at all and back to what she was thinking she thought she was thinking in a British accent a very proper way of speaking as she spoke these thoughts and perhaps she thought that her words would come out the same so she muttered something which she didn't know what but in hindsight she thought that she said to sit in solemn silence on a dull dark dock in a pestilential prison with a life long lock awaiting the sensation of a short sharp shock from a cheap and chippy chopper on a big black block and where that riddle or rhyme or poem or whatever it was it doesn't really matter she did not know where that come from but it sounded to dreary so she thought of something better with was peter piper pecked a pick of peppered pickles and she did nt. know the rest but said as well how many peters did picked peppers pickle which she though made perfect sence and then the colors changed again though darj icoleors why diegksd they chanadge tjto blackh we s fiery shflieue obervrrr holy couln' gq tenalsdk and she drifterda s oefja to slerrrp…...lhvm,./...


End file.
